Bridge & Tunnel
by halfasblind
Summary: Post-S1. A present/past view of the evolution of Tim and Tyra's relationship once they reconcile, beginning with Curse Your Fate.
1. Curse Your Fate

Disclaimer: For the love of Tim Riggins, none of it is mine.

Summary: They're sitting side by side on the sofa both wearing identical grins and backwards caps.

Notes: My initial foray into the land of FNL fic. Be gentle, please. Also please forgive the fluff. It'll never happen again.

—

**01. Curse Your Fate**

They're sitting side by side on the sofa both wearing identical grins and backwards caps, enthralled by the television. Tim's watching football and Michael is all ears, pointing at the TV, mimicking his daddy.

You're sitting in the kitchen thumbing through Cosmo, watching your boys, almost thankful of Tim's recent injury. By no means are you happy that he's hurt. No. Of course you're not. But he's home with you and Michael where he should be.

Tim scoffs at the TV yelling at a bad call. "Dammit, Ref, pull your head out of your ass and pay attention to the fucking game." He pauses, muttering breathlessly, "Moron."

"Tim," you warn. Michael is just learning to talk and the last thing you need (or want) is for him to start mimicking his father's potty mouth. It'd be a waste on a brand new generation of Riggins.

He glances over at you, eyebrows raised. "Like you don't curse around him."

"But when I do, I remember to cover his ears," you quickly remind him, sticking your tongue out tauntingly.

Tim frowns at you then spins around back to the television. You hear him muttering along with the sports announcers but you're too busy reading to pay attention to whatever he's bitching about.

A few moments later as you turn the page, you listen intently to Tim and what he's saying and realize that Tim's not talking to the TV, but to Michael. Every few seconds Michael adds his two cents (albeit in gibberish) and you only wish you knew what he was saying. Tim balks, "I hear ya buddy," like he knows what the munchkin is saying. And maybe he does.

You leave the boys to their bonding and turn the page to… Ooh! Makeup coupons! Score!

"SCORE!" Tim jumps up with glee as Michael stands up and begins jumping on the sofa. He catches your glare and scoops Michael into his arms, telling him, "You're not supposed to jump on the sofa when Mama's home, Mikey."

After he's settled back on the sofa, Tim looks at you, a smirk playing on his lips. It was that damn smirk that had won you over more times than you could count. You laugh when Michael stands up and flashes you that very same smirk. Ah like father, like son. It's a little heartbreaking.

Tim hears the whistle and the commotion going on onscreen and nearly gives himself whiplash as he turns back to see what's happened. And it's bad. So bad. You count the seconds until the word leaves Tim's mouth: "Fuck!"

And just like you knew he would, Michael tries to repeat and what comes out is, "Puck!"

You glare at Tim, shaking your head as he sighs. "I guess I should've covered his ears, huh?"


	2. Life’s Just a Cocktail Party

Disclaimer: For the love of Tim Riggins, none of it is mine.

Summary: He takes your hands in his and it's the moment that your skin contacts that you realize that you're shaking. You're actually scared that he's serious and that you'll be compelled to agree to this crazy idea of his.

Notes: So. I couldn't just stop with Curse Your Fate. I wanted to write something different and long, but then I started brainstorming and a world without Michael and Daddy!Tim just made no sense to me. So spurned the Bridge & Tunnel verse, which will be an entire series of fics that switch between past and present, remaining (for the most part) in Tyra's voice.

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**02. Life's Just a Cocktail Party on the Street**

"You're such an ass, Tim," you yell to his retreating back. He says nothing, just stalks to his truck and reaches for the door handle. He stalls, but the door doesn't open and he doesn't look at you. At first anyway.

Then he looks at you, studies you mostly, and calls across the yard, "We should get married."

Your eyebrows shoot up and you squeak, "In what parallel universe?" Because clearly the real Tim Riggins has disappeared to some unknown galaxy that only exists on Sci-Fi.

"I'm serious, Tyra." He pushes away from the truck and stomps back toward you, stopping at the bottom of the steps, barely a foot away. He takes your hands in his and it's the moment that your skin contacts that you realize that you're shaking. You're actually scared that he's serious and that you'll be compelled to agree to this crazy idea of his.

You swallow past the lump that has formed in your throat, shaking your head. "No. You can't be serious, Tim. All we do is fight. We were fighting not more than five minutes ago!" You're more flustered than you are appalled and that doesn't bode well for you declining Tim's proposal (if you could even call it that).

"Because you were being unreasonable," he points out, kicking at the shards of grass at his feet. He makes a mental note to cut the grass over the weekend.

"Forgive me, but _whatcha_ is not a word, and it's completely unacceptable for Scrabble."

He huffs, "We weren't playing in a tournament, Tyra. You could've let it go." You start to argue, but he interrupts, "See? We're already bickering like an old married couple, we might as well make it official."

"Just because we can argue with the best of them doesn't mean that we should get married, you dumbass." You think that maybe he's been hit in the head with a football one time too many.

He's not letting up, though. He squeezes your hands, stepping onto the bottom step, inching just a little bit closer. "I know it's stupid and we're probably too young, but I can't imagine my life without you, Tyra. There's no one I'd rather go to bed with and wake up with and there's surely no one else I'd rather fight with." He takes a deep breath and murmurs, "_Marry me_."

You blink back tears, hating that his monologues always get to you. A hiccup escapes your throat when you try to speak and it takes you a moment before you can voice a response. "It might not work out."

He scoffs, "Must you be such a pessimist?"

"One of us has to be, _he who proposes on a whim_."

Tim averts his gaze, murmuring, "And apparently I'm getting shot down."

"It's just…," you trail off, looking away. "You're a football player."

He rolls his eyes and points out the obvious, "I've always been a football player, Tyra."

You run your fingers through your hair while Tim stares at you sternly, awaiting an explanation, an answer, _something_. "You're going to be this big football star. Girls will be throwing themselves at you. Remember that girl from the movie store yesterday? There will be more like that."

He shrugs nonchalantly. "What's your point?"

You wonder how he can be so cavalier. Then again he _is_ Tim Riggins. He mastered cavalier in elementary school. "I don't want to be the reason that you can't revel in the fame." You also don't want to be the loyal wife to a husband who isn't. You keep that to yourself, though.

His voices softens and cracks. "Well, fame's worth squat if I can't share it someone I love... if I can't share it with _you_."

And your heart breaks into a million tiny little pieces. You smile, he smiles, and before you can stop yourself, you throw yourself into Tim's arms. His arms wind around you, chests pressed together, heartbeats beating rapidly in succession.

Then, he kisses you and it's sweet and gentle and full of promise. After a moment, Tim pulls back, meets your eyes and prods, "Well?"

You nod, grasping the lapels of his jacket. "Okay."

"Okay?" He searches your eyes, looking for some glimmer of hope or doubt, which you're not quite sure.

But then you realize that okay may not be the answer he was looking for so you gasp, "Oh. YES!" He expels a deep breath, his lips curving into a smile. "Yes, I'll marry you, Tim."

He picks you up and twirls you around, the two of you laughing and giggling with excitement (and you're sure there's a little bit of fear and trepidation mixed in there, too).

When your feet touch the ground a few spins later, he brushes his lips across yours, then takes a step back toward his truck, saying, "Okay. I have to go."

"Now?" You balk. It's just like Tim to propose then run away.

"Well, you want a ring don't you?" Your eyes drop to your hand, your lips twitch and you hear Tim snicker. "I'll be back," he promises. He kisses you again before he turns and walks back to his truck.

You stand watching as he climbs in, smiling and proud of himself. He blows you a kiss -- yes, he actually blows you a kiss! -- then speeds out of the driveway.

You wrangle open the screen door and walk back into the house. You're not sure how it's all going to work out, but you have no doubt in your mind that it will. You and Tim fought to make the last three years together work. You'll fight to make a marriage work, too.

You throw yourself down onto the sofa, taking a much needed breath.

_You're marrying Tim Riggins._

And you couldn't be happier.


	3. There's Always Tomorrow

Disclaimer: For the love of Tim Riggins, none of it is mine.

Summary: You're dreaming that Tim's home and you're making up for all the time that has been lost since he's been away.

—

**03. There's Always Tomorrow**

You're dreaming that Tim's home and you're making up for all the time that has been lost since he's been away. When the bed dips you think it's part of your dream. A hand curls around your waist and again you sink deeper into your dream state. Your nightgown slips up, hard, callused hands moving beneath it and over your skin. The hand closes over your breast and you moan, arching up.

Then there's lips on yours, fingers in your hair, a hard body pressing you deeper into the mattress. Your eyes snap open and there's Tim and he's not a figment of your imagination. Instead of barreling him with questions, you surrender your body to him as you've done so many times before.

Your eyes meet, the two of you smiling at one another. "You're home," you breathe out, almost unable to believe it.

You push his hair out of his face. "We're out of the playoffs," he says, fingers gently brushing your cheek. "Coach wanted me to wait until the weekend before I came home but I was ready to get back to you and Michael."

Your arms circle his neck, pulling him closer, deeper. "I'm glad that you're back." You move against him and he groans, teeth grinding.

He says nothing, just pushes up your nightgown, bunching the material just below your breasts. He begins kissing your stomach, nipping your skin with his teeth in spots where he knows you're ticklish.

Tim pushes your legs apart, his kisses changing direction. Your breath hitches in anticipation, but just as he settles between your legs, wailing comes over the baby monitor. Tim's head falls onto your stomach, the both of your expelling frustrated sighs. It wasn't the first time you'd been interrupted by Michael and it certainly wouldn't be the last. But just this once you were hoping he'd sleep through the night. You missed your husband and was hoping to show him just how much.

Unfortunately you weren't that lucky. And you weren't getting lucky.

Tim scrambles out of bed before you can even sit up. "I'll get him," he tells you before crossing the hall to Michael's nursery.

You push your nightgown back down and reach for the glass of water that you keep on the nightstand. You take a sip and are setting the glass back down on the coaster when Tim waltzes back into the room a few moments later, toting Michael. He climbs back into bed, settling Michael between the two of you. You press a kiss your son's cheek, watching as he curls up against Tim. His eyes close once more, Tim's shirt bunched in his tiny fist.

You glance over at Tim who gives you a tight smile and says, "There's always tomorrow night."

You lean over Michael to steal a kiss from your husband. You exchange I love you's and bid one another goodnight before settling on your respective sides of the bed. You both lay facing Michael, your legs entwined as you close your eyes and welcome sleep, your son nestled between you.


	4. You Crack a Smile, Talk a While

Disclaimer: For the love of Tim Riggins, none of it is mine.

Summary: An entire year is likely to go by before Tim even remembers that he proposed, but it's not like you're in a rush to marry him anyway.

—

**04. You Crack a Smile, Talk a While**

You're laying in your bed, thumbing through the latest issue of _Modern Bride_ even though you've only been engaged two weeks. You and Tim hadn't even begun to discuss wedding plans, much less a date. Heck, an entire year is likely to go by before Tim even remembers that he proposed, but it's not like you're in a rush to marry him anyway.

After all both your sister and your mother had asked you if you'd lost your mind when you told them that you were engaged. Then Mindy had asked you if you were pregnant. It took you a good twenty minutes to reassure your mother that you were not with child. Not that you would've married Tim just for that fact alone.

You're folding down the edges of the pages that you wanted to go back to when you hear Tim's voice. He's talking to your mom and you can only imagine what they're talking about. Then Tim's walking into your room, saying, "Your mom asked me if you were pregnant again."

You push the magazine underneath your pillow, sighing as you sit up, "Yeah, she thinks that's the reason you proposed." Tim closes your bedroom door, his face hardening. "The answer's still no," you tell him when he starts to open his mouth to ask.

He shrugs off his jacket, setting it down on the edge of the bed. "It wouldn't bother me if you were."

"But I'm not."

He sits down beside you on the bed. "But if you were… it'd be cool. I want kids."

"I do, too. Just not tomorrow."

"Fair enough." He smirks at you, asking, "So what was so secretive?"

You feign innocence. "I'm not sure I know what you mean." He reaches behind you, pulling the magazine out from under your pillow. He stares down at the cover, nodding. "You've been thinking about it a lot?"

You shake your head, taking the magazine from him, insisting, "Not much, really." Tim gives you a disbelieving look and you sigh. "Okay. So I've been thinking about it more than… not much, but that's only because you haven't wanted to talk about it."

"I haven't brought it up because I've had other things on my mind."

"Like what?" you snap. Tim makes no move to explain. He just reaches behind himself for his jacket, extracting a teeny black box.

"I've been waiting for _this_," he says, shaking the box for you to see. "My mom had it and it took me a few days to find her and then another few days for her to find this. It'd been tucked away in a drawer so it needed a good cleaning and… I just hope you like it," he explains all in one breath.

Tim opens the box and extracts the ring before he takes your hand. When he does, it's shaking, but so is his so you don't feel like a complete moron. He slides the ring onto your finger and it's a perfect fit. And it's beautiful. It's antique-looking, but freshly polished so the white gold gleams. The ring itself sort of waves, a round diamond set in the middle.

"Well?" he asks, hopeful.

"It's beautiful, Tim," you tell him, teary eyes meeting his. You cross the space separating the two of you to gently brush your lips across his. His hand cups your cheek and lingers there, brushing away the tears that fall at his fingertips.

When you part, he says, "I hope those are happy tears." You crack a smile, nodding. He pushes a stray lock of your hair behind your ear, his hand dropping to take yours.

He brushes the diamond with the pad of his thumb, taking your hands to pull you closer. His hand falls behind you as he says, "It was my grandma's." You meet his eyes for a second before you look back down at the ring adorning your finger. You hadn't expected something so exquisite. Something out of a bubble gum machine, sure. But this? You most certainly hadn't expected this. "So now I guess we can start planning things now," he says, his words breaking through your thoughts.

"What?"

He reaches around you to grab the bridal magazine. He stretches out on his side and begins flips it open. "Planning," he says again. "You know, _the wedding_." You think maybe you heard him wrong, but then he says, "And for the record, I am not wearing tails. Let's just get that little fact straight right now."

You laugh laying down beside him. You push the magazine off the bed, curling up beside Tim when he flattens out onto his back. You discuss wedding dates, the possibility of eloping and Tim laughs thinking about the toast his brother would give.

Conversation drones on and on and until you ask him if he'll invite Walt. Tim stiffens, quieting. He doesn't want to talk about it and is quick to change the subject. He suggests picking a wedding date so you sit up and grab the calendar out of your nightstand drawer.

By the time Tim leaves an hour later you have a headache and the overwhelming need to pull all your hair out. But despite the latter and the mild arguing that ensued while you discussed what month you wanted to marry, at least you now have a date circled in your calendar.


End file.
